


Blame Simon

by oxiosa



Category: Hetalia: Axis Powers, Latin Hetalia - Fandom
Genre: Alternate Universe - Human, Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Blood and Injury, M/M, Violence
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-08-17
Updated: 2017-03-13
Packaged: 2018-08-09 07:25:29
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 3
Words: 9,688
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7792234
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/oxiosa/pseuds/oxiosa
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Martín holds his stare, all swollen red lips, golden dishevelled hair, and bright furious green eyes, his lean half naked body taut with tension. Luciano would have found the picture most erotic, under other circumstances.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Disclamer; the characters used in this work belong to the community Latin Hetalia and their respective creators. More info about them in the following link > www.latin-hetalia.livejournal.com
> 
> Argentina: Martín Hernández.  
> Brazil: Luciano Da Silva.

Luciano is not even a little surprised, if he has to be honest.

He lives alone in a small cheap apartment, barely a room with a kitchenette in a corner, a bed in the other, a table, an old TV and a tiny bathroom , but there's really no point in complaining when he spends more time working outside in the streets anyway; Luciano is a member of the Police Department, proud to carry his uniform and badge, even when that means he barely spends time at home - not like it matters, really, no one is at home waiting for him.

Luciano lives all by himself, so it’d be normal for him to be alarmed to arrive home after a long, tiring day and find the lights and TV on and someone inside.

He is not - it's not the first time that happens, nor will it be the last, he well knows by now.

"One of these days you'll have to tell me how you keep breaking into my house like this, Martín," Luciano sighs as he closes the door behind him.

Martín is laying comfortably on _his_ bed, watching a football game on _his_ TV, eating _his_ food. He turns to Luciano halfway through a spoonful of stew, and smiles.

"A magician never reveals his secret," Martín answers as solemnly as his full mouth allows him to. He swallows, before speaking again. "Also, hi, how are you, hello to you too, Luciano."

Luciano rolls his eyes at him and takes off his police cap. A small smirk curves his lips as he crosses the small apartment in just a couple of steps and reaches the bed. He leans forward and kisses Martín's forehead. He lets his lips linger on Martín's warm soft skin.

"Hi," he whispers.

Martín tilts his head up, and kisses his lips.

"Hi," he smiles at him.

Luciano can't help but return the gesture. He kisses Martín again, his hand gently holding the back of his neck. Martín opens his mouth to his with a pleased hum, and then pulls away.

"Are you hungry?" he asks, one hand reaching and squeezing the back of Luciano's thigh, gently stroking up and down over the pants of his uniform smoothly. "I kind of ate the last of your stew, but we can order something."

"No, I ate something in the way home," Luciano shakes his head. "Can't stay long anyways."

A small frown forms on Martín's brow.

"You've just arrived," he points out, disapproval slipping into his voice.

"I've got shift tonight too," Luciano explains with a tired sigh.

"Busy night, uh?" Martín murmurs. "I get it, I'm kind of busy myself too," He lets his hand casually slide up to Luciano's butt, and gives him a shameless challenging smile. "We'll have to be quick then."

Luciano laughs, and before he knows it, he is in the bed too, on top of Martín, kissing and pressing tightly against him. Without pulling away from Martín's hungry lips, he takes off his duty belt with nimble trained fingers and leaves it on the floor by the bed – the last thing he needs is one of them blowing their asses off in the haste and heat of things. He raises his hands to the neck of his shirt, but Martín stops him before he can undo even the first button.

"Leave it on," Martín breaths out, and bites his lower lip playfully. "Leave the uniform on."

Luciano can't help a soft chuckle.

"Well, aren't you kinky..."

"You look hot in it," Martín smiles, and rolls his hips against Luciano with intent. "Besides, shagging a police officer is extra thrilling when you're a wanted criminal."

Luciano groans displeased, and drops his head right by Martín's. He can't help but frown, as he always does whenever Martín brings up his job.

Luciano had known Martín since they were kids.

Martín had lived in a villa, in one of Argentina's poorest towns until the age of 13, until he moved to a Brazilian favela with his mother – a woman who had dragged her son along with her away from their motherland for a Brazilian guy who, after a couple of months of living together, abandoned her, just like Martín's father had abandoned them even before Martín was born.

It had been hard for them. Neither Martín nor his mother had known a word of Portuguese back then, and she could barely afford a living with her salary. Children could be cruel, and soon Martín became the favourite target of the kids in the favela; a lonely Argentinian boy who didn't speak the language and didn't quite fit in was an easy juicy prey. But Martín hadn’t been new to the street life. He had learned back in Argentina everything he needed for survival, as he soon proved. It had taken several scraped knuckles, split lips and swollen eyes, but Martín's fierceness built him a fearsome reputation among the other children.

Luciano had been Martín's neighbour back then. They hadn't got along at first, until one day they simply did. One moment they were fighting, and the next they were teasing each other and laughing. _Chemistry_ , Luciano remembers Martín had called it.

Being raised in a favela was tough, Luciano knows it first-hand; hanging around the wrong people is easy. He and Martín had been 14 when they joined a small gang of criminals. They didn't usually do much, especially since they were the youngest of the gang. They were a group of teenagers who stole for a man called Alberto, who took profit from whatever the kids could get their hands on; glasses, watches, wallets, purses.  
Luciano remembers how in a robbery, the kids they had been with had left them behind, and how the police had caught them. They had spent the night in small crowded cell at the police station. Being locked in a cell with several older bigger men who were actual criminals had been a terrifying experience Luciano wouldn't forget in his life.

Their mothers had come to pick them up the next morning. Luciano's mother had been furious, and hadn't spoken to him the whole way back home. Once they arrived home, she had burst into tears and had held Luciano tightly against her, sobbing against his skin as she covered his face with kisses. Luciano had cried and clung to her just as tightly, feeling smaller than ever.

His family had moved out to his uncle's house after that, on the other side of the favela. His parents had been too concerned about their son's future to keep living in Alberto's gang’s territory. It had been a good call. Luciano had finished his studies and signed up in the police academy. Luciano didn't get to see his old gang anymore. Except for Martín, who hadn't been so lucky.

Martín stayed in Alberto's gangs, following the steps of so many other kids before him, quickly escalating the criminal field with his charms and wits. He had started with pickpocketing tourists, and now he dealt black market cars, a most wanted criminal.

A business Luciano was supposed to be investigating and fighting against.

"Way to kill the mood," Luciano groans grumpily.

Martín buries his face in Luciano's neck and chuckles against sensitive skin.

"I'm sorry," he says, not even sounding a little apologetic. "I do have a couple of ideas to get you back in the mood."

He reaches out and catches Luciano's earlobe between his teeth to give it a gentle teasing pull. Luciano groans, for an entirely different reason now, and chases after Martín's lips.

As they kiss, Luciano slides a hand down between their bodies until he reaches the front of Martín's pants. Martín lets out a pleased moan and bites his lower lip as his hips twitch forward encouragingly, following the slow rhythm of Luciano's open hand.  
Luciano kisses him deeply, and rearranges himself so he can sit on Martín's lap, his free hand working on Martín's belt. Martín's hand roams over Luciano's back, pulling at his clothes and grunting lowly with each small thrust. Luciano unbuttons Martín's pants and pulls the zipper down, just enough to slide his hand inside. He rubs and circles his open palm over the increasing bulge on his suddenly tight underwear. Martín moans for him, smiling shamelessly inside the kiss, thrusting deeper and eagerly against him as his breath becomes heavier and his groans grow louder.

They get Martín's shirt off and out of the way in one fast pull, and Luciano leans in to leave wet open kisses on the bare pale skin of Martín’s tense stomach, mouthing and sucking just below his bellybutton. Martín groans and bucks his hips forward. He kisses Martín's navel, just above the edge of his underwear, and then he is gone, pulling up and away to kiss Martín's lips.

" _Tease_ ," Martín accuses with a raspy breathless chuckle.

Luciano sits on Martín's hips, his weight grounding Martín down against the mattress. Luciano's hand may be gone, but Martín rocks his body up to search friction against Luciano's butt. Luciano lets his hands roam over Martín, open palms and skimming fingers tracing tense lean muscles all their way up his body. When his arms reach Martín's chest, Luciano lets his hands travel to his shoulders, sliding up his arms and gently pulling Martín's hand away from himself. Martín lets Luciano lead him, lets Luciano places his hands over his head. He curls his finger around old rusty steel and takes a good hold of the bedboard's bars giving Luciano a playful smirk. Luciano buries his face on Martín's neck, kissing and nibbling gently, and gives Martín's wrists a little squeeze before his hands are gone.

Martín's smirk drops the moment he hears a soft distinctive clicking sound over his head and feels cold tight metal around his wrists.

Luciano stops moving on top of him, and pulls away breathlessly. He doesn't dare look Martín in the eye.

"Luciano," Martín says, his voice collected and clear holding a dangerous undertone. "Let me go."

Luciano lets out a shaky sigh, and slowly shakes his head no.

He sure doesn't see the head-butt coming. Martín's forehead hits him straight in the face, hard and fast. Luciano hisses a curse as he instinctively pulls away and out of Martín's reach, falling out of the bed and into the ground. He feels his eyes filling with tears and his nose swelling as blood obstructs his nostrils; he can taste it on his lips and feel it dripping down his chin.

"Son of a-!"

"I said let me go, you motherfucker!"

Luciano grits his teeth and glares at him from the floor, trying to stop the haemorrhage with his bare hands. Martín holds his stare, all swollen red lips, golden dishevelled hair, and bright furious green eyes, his lean half naked body taut with tension and pulling hard against the restrains on his wrists. Luciano would have found the picture most erotic, under other circumstances.

Now, he might or might not want to just strangle him.

Following better judgement, he closes his eyes and counts to ten, and decides to treat his wound. He stands up and silently goes to the small kitchenette for some paper towels.

"Great..." he huffs angrily, and curses under his breath. "You got blood on my uniform... just great..."

"Let me go," is Martín's answer.

Luciano ignores him. He cleans the blood off himself as best as he can. He sits by his table, and plugs some small rolled up pieces of tissue into his nostrils in an attempt to stop the bleeding. Luciano leans his head back with a groan, closes his eyes, and places an ice bag on his face. He can hear the clang of the cuff's metal against the steel of the bedboard’s bar, can hear Martín's hollowed breaths and grunts, can hear the struggle and the strain.

"You should probably stop pulling at those," Luciano says without bothering to look down. "You're just gonna hurt yourself like that."

"Fuck you," Martín spits, his voice filled with venom and hatred. "So you're finally turning me in, huh? Why now? Why after all this time? Is this some game you grew bored of? Is this how you break up with people, you throw them in fucking jail?"

"Don't be absurd, Martín," Luciano says. He puts the ice bag down, and looks at Martín with pursed lips. "If I haven't taken you to justice after all this years why would I do it now?"

"Then what's your fucking problem?" Martín demands, furious.

Luciano keeps quiet for a moment. He lets out a sigh and closes his eyes, before answering.

"We know about tonight."

When he looks back to Martín, he finds him blinking back at him, all the rage on his face gone and turned into confusion.

"What?"

"We know about tonight's operation. We know when and where you're gonna hit next," Luciano answers gloomily. "We've got a raid prepared for you people."

Martín's frown deepens, and while the confusion isn't gone, the rage is back.

"So what, you're arresting me beforehand?"

"No," Luciano replies, and says with simple honesty; "I'm keeping you away from it."

Martín stares at him with wide eyes.

"You are what?" He asks weakly.

"I can't let you get arrested," Luciano explains tiredly. "And I definitely can't let you warn your people. This is the only choice I have."

"You can't do that," he whispers. "If your people get them, if I'm not there, they're gonna think... They're gonna-You can't just leave me here!"

"I have no option," Luciano says, truly desperate.

"You can't-This is inhuman!" Martín explodes, and clenches his jaw. "I'm gonna scream so loud your neighbours will think there's a murder going on here!"

"So they call the police? Are you really so desperate to get caught that you'll turn yourself in on a silver platter? Unarmed, cuffed to a bed, half naked, half hard?"

A furious blush spreads across Martín's face, all the way to his bare chest.

"You'll get in trouble," he hisses. "They'll find me here and how will you explain this to your bosses, huh?"

"No more trouble than you," Luciano shoots back.

Martín clenches his jaw tight, an angry pulsing vein jumping on his neck. Taking Martín's silence as the final display of his triumph, Luciano stands up. He makes sure his nose has stopped bleeding and makes sure there are no traces of blood or struggle on his uniform before going for his cap. He then walks to the bed and kneels by its side to take his duty belt off the floor.

It takes an enormous amount of strength for Luciano to look up to Martín. Barely a couple of centimetres away and yet still unable to reach him, Martín holds his stare with raging pride. Luciano can feel his stomach twist with disgust.

He stands up, and makes his way to the door.

"You have no right to do this," Martín's voice stops him with his hand on the doorknob.

"That's funny coming from you," Luciano points out with a sad smile, feeling sick, and doesn't dare look back, doesn't dare look Martín in the eyes.

"Let me go," Martín says his plea like it's an order, like he is giving Luciano one last chance to redeem himself. "Luciano, let me go."

Luciano sighs and trembles, and balls his hands into fists.

"You'll get yourself caught, or worst, killed," he answers, quiet but stern. He just adds with a gentler voice, "I'm sorry, Martín... I'll be back for you in a couple of hours, I just-I can't, I... I'm really sorry..."

"No," Martín cuts him. "You're not.”

There’s something in his voice that makes Luciano turn around and look at him.

Martín sits cuffed to his bed, clenching his jaw and tilting his chin up with burning fierceness. His green eyes scorch holes into Luciano, the attentive furious glare of a wild caged beast waiting patiently for the right moment to strike the one that has dared to shackle it.

“But you will be,” Martín promises, and the wild furious fire in his eyes turns into impenetrable biting ice.


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Ok, so this fic was supposed to just be a scene I got in my head, not a multichapter fic. But the my mind started working on the rest of the plot on it's own, so here we are ¯\\_(ツ)_/¯

It’s been a week since the raid, and things are far worse than Luciano could have even imagined. After all their planning, the operation was a success, yes; they recovered twenty stolen cars, and arrested five men, had zero injured, all in the span of barely a couple of hours. Luciano would have been proud and pleased with the result, if not for one unexpected detail.

The stolen cars now under the Police’s custody had kilograms and kilograms of drugs on their trunks.

The news had taken the whole Police Department by surprise. They had thought they were dealing with cars’ black market, not with drug trafficking. It made it all over the news, and the scandal was enough for the Police Chief to resign his charge, which only made everything ever more complicated with a new chief of police trying to figure things out.

It's also been a week since he's last seen or heard of Martín.

Luciano had arrived home by early morning to find his apartment empty; the only sign that he had left Martín there was Luciano's bed, a mess of crumpled sheets with some trails of dry blood - a sight that worried Luciano deeply, for there hadn’t been any blood when he left.

Seven days, Luciano thinks, since then, and no word from Martín.

It breaks Luciano’s heart to think that this is their goodbye. That he might not know of Martín ever again; he can’t think of a reason why he would come back, after what Luciano did. Not now, at least. Martín is stubborn and proud, and won’t forgive him easily, Luciano knows. But Martín’s not stupid, and Luciano holds a little hope that he’ll eventually understand that Luciano did what he had to do to keep him safe. It won’t be soon, but maybe in some distant future. Luciano can only hope Martín will forgive him then, and maybe if Luciano’s lucky, contact him again.

For now, Luciano arrives to a quiet dark apartment with a headache from work, and sinks exhausted in a cold bed with the memory of wild furious green eyes burning behind his eyelids.

 

Luciano skips down the steps of the front door of his apartment building. The sun is low in the sky, blue tangling with orange on the horizon as the last minutes of daytime dissolve in darkness. He takes a quick look around and slides his earbuds on. Music blasts in his ears, loud and upbeat, and so he takes off.

Luciano has always liked sports. Physical activity has always kept him sharp, has always helped him clear his head and get his ideas together. Lately, his daily runs are the only thing that helps him quiet the storm in his mind; between work and Martín’s disappearance, it’s been hard to find some peace of mind.

He arrives back home when the sun is already gone. He climbs the stairs to the first floor, and freezes in place when he reaches the front door of his flat. In the darkness of the corridor between apartments, he can see light coming from under his door.

There’s only one person who has made a routine to breaking into his house.

Luciano rushes inside and Martín’s name catches in his throat in a breathless pant before he can blurt it out.

It’s not him.

Three men Luciano has never seen in his life are inside his apartment, casually roaming through his stuff. They raise their heads and turn in his direction, and suddenly Luciano wishes he had brought his gun out with himself.

One of the men, the shortest but for that not less threatening, steps forward and gives Luciano a wide smile.

"Officer Da Silva," he greets him warmly, like welcoming a close friend home. "Please, come in. You kept us waiting, hope you don't mind we made ourselves comfortable."

Luciano glares cautiously. He can see a knife on the belt of one of the men staying behind, but more importantly the man smiling at him has a gun; Luciano can see the grip standing out from under his jacket.

"Please,” the man insists, almost politely. “There's no need for a scandal. We're here to talk." 

Luciano's outnumbered, and even worse, unarmed. He better play his cards wisely. 

So he complies; Luciano closes the door slowly, but doesn't move. This way he can count with the comfort of an easy retreat on his very back, even when deep down he knows he'd be dead before even turning around if these men wanted it so. 

"Ok..." Luciano grants, and he is glad he sounds like he's the one in charge when actually his heart is drumming on his ears and every nerve on his body screams for him to flee. "You wanna talk? Then talk. What are you doing in my house?"

The man seems pleased with Luciano's – if defiant – cooperation. 

"Straight to the point, the way I like it," he chuckles, a raspy painful sound. He gives Luciano a nasty knowing smile. "We're looking for someone we hope you can help us locate. Martín Hernández sounds familiar to you, right?"

Luciano's heart skips a beat; he hopes it didn't show. 

"I don't know who-" 

"Don't lie," the man cuts him violently, all the niceties gone. He catches himself and chuckles, shakes his head, and smiles again, apologetic. "Please, don't lie, officer. Don't make this any more difficult than it has to be. You  _ don't _ want to make this any more difficult than it has to be."

Luciano balls his hands into fists. The man speaks again.

"Now, we know you two are more than just  acquaintance..."

"I haven't seen him since we got to send a bunch of you people to jail," Luciano answers, honest and cold. "I have no idea where he could be."

"Of course," the man nods in understanding, like he’s missed the obvious. "You fuck him, get the information you need, and then discard him. Not very police-like, but classical."

"That's not-" he starts.

"I said no lies," the man interrupts him again, like he's scolding a difficult child. "It's ok, we don’t blame you, officer. You're a co p. Dear  _ Martinho _ , on the other hand..."

"He had nothing to do with the raid,” Luciano insists firmly.

The man snorts amused.

"Of course he didn’t," he says, his eyes shining amused. He then claps his hands together. "Ok, you don't know where that little rat is hiding. I believe you, Officer."

Luciano didn’t expect this to be so easy.

"You do?" he repeats and regrets it the moment the words leave his lips.

"I don't see why you would bother lying to me to protect that bastard when he already gave you what you wanted," the man admits with a shrug. "Besides, knowing what’s coming his way, I would be hiding under a rock too if I were him." He gestures his men to the door. “That’ll be all, officer, thanks for your help.”

Luciano gives a step back and watches them go. The man leading the other two stops by the door and gives Luciano a look over his shoulder.

"Now, if you  _ do _ happen to see  _ Martinho _ again," he says, serious now. "Please tell him for me that good ol' Raul is gonna find him, and boy is he gonna regret selling us out."

He gives Luciano a friendly smile, and then he’s gone. Luciano waits a moment, hears them leave, before he rushes to close the door and sags against it with heavy breathing.

_ What had he done? _

 

Luciano drags his feet across the sidewalk, daydreaming of a meal and a bed. It’s late, the sun is already gone, and he has just left work. With the new Chief of Police on command, the office has been chaotic for the last days, and he’s been forced to stay extra hours trying to help get some order. He really hopes they soon get things figured out; he’s not sure how much longer he’ll be able to cope with this mess.

It might be his tiredness what keeps Luciano from noticing he’s been followed. He doesn’t notice the shadow trailing after him until he is being shoved inside a dark narrow alley. Luciano hits the wall hard, pain exploding on the side of his temple and knocking the air out of his lungs. He grits his teeth and tries to reach for his gun, but a hand snatches around his wrist and pulls his arm behind his back.

“Ah-ah,” a familiar hushed voice warns in his ear. “Drop the gun before you hurt yourself, love.”

Luciano’s eyes go wide and he stops struggling against the body behind him.

“Martín?” he breathes out.

A heel jams on the back of Luciano’s knee,  _ hard _ , and his weight gives away with the blow. He falls and kneels on the concrete with a grunt and a hissed curse. Before he can complain, a hand is grabbing a fistful of his hair and pulling back roughly, forcing Luciano’s head back until Luciano is looking up to the man looming behind him.

Martín stares with hard sharp eyes and pursed lips.

He doesn’t look happy to see him. At all.

Luciano blinks up at him, and gulps.

“Martín,” he says. I-”

“Zip it,” Martín orders.

Luciano swallows again, and of course doesn’t listen to Martín.

“Look, I just wanted to say that I-”

The rest gets stuck in his throat when he feels the cold edge of a knife pressing against his jaw.

“You know,” Martín says, eyes roaming over Luciano’s features almost boringly. “I have fucked up faces for less than what you have done to me.”

“Too bad you’re rather fond of my face,” Luciano replies back, his voice not even missing a beat.

He’s not afraid. A little nervous perhaps, but the knife against his skin has nothing to do with it. He knows Martín, knows of all the bad things he’s done, of what he’s capable. Knows he is easy to anger, that he can hold a grudge for a lifetime, that’s he’s perhaps a little too willing to resort to fist fights. He knows he might lie, cheat and steal, but Luciano knows he is not some sick son of a bitch. So Luciano holds his stare, and waits.

Martín cocks his head slightly, and lets out a quiet hum. And then, he lets go without a word.

Luciano lets his head drop down with a slight grunt. He sinks his hand on the back of his head, running his fingers over his sensitive abused scalp.

“I guess I deserved that,” he grants and rises to his feet with a grimace.

“You deserve way more than a little push and some hair tugging,” Martín replies harshly behind him. “I should break every one of your fingers and toes.”

Luciano bends to shake the dirt from his knees, unfazed.

“Have you really ever done that?” he asks absently, trying to rub the stain off his uniform’s pants.

“You can be my first,” Martín offers.

He can’t help a light snort and a small fond smirk from curving his lips - see, he can call a bluff when he sees one. Martín can say whatever he wants, but Luciano sees right through him.

“What an honour,” he says and finally turns around.

Martín rests his back against the opposite wall, glaring daggers at him unamused. His hands are crossed over his chest, and even in the dim light of the alley, Luciano can see ugly marks of purple and red around his wrists, pale skin torn and burnt. Guilt drops Luciano’s smile and painfully twists in his stomach.

Martín catches his eye, and raises a disdainful eyebrow at him.

"Not much into bondage," he mutters, almost humorously. "Not when I'm the one tied, hones tly. Maybe we should try cuffing you to the bed next time, though..."

"I said I was sorry," Luciano replies defensively.

"Yes, but do you r egret it?"

It’s Luciano’s turn to glare.

"See?” Martín hums. “I'll forgive you when you truly mean it."

“You know I had to,” Luciano says, firmly.

“I know nothing,” Martín shoots back.

“You do,” Luciano insists, and a light frown wrinkles his brow. “That’s why you’re not mad at me.”

“I’m _furious_ at you,” Martín snaps at him, eyes widening in disbelief and sparkling with anger.

“Not enough to walk away from me,” Luciano points.

That seems to deflate Martín, even if slightly. His shoulder sink and his face softens; his frown and pursed lips are gone, and so is the dangerous gleam in his eyes. He looks very tired, suddenly, and only now does Luciano finally notice how pale and thin he is, and how unusually disheveled he looks.

“We’re not safe here,” he mutters. “We should go.”

Luciano agrees, and so they they do. Luciano’s place is not far away - barely a couple of blocks - so they spend a couple of minutes silently walking side by side. Luciano can’t help but shoot Martín worried sidelong glances every now and then, but refrains from doing anything about it. It’s not the time, out here. They need to get to cover as soon as possible.

Once they get to the apartment, once they are safe and sound, Luciano catches Martín’s hand, entwines their fingers almost shyly. He almost expects Martín to pull away, and when he doesn’t, Luciano gently pulls him closer, until their foreheads are pressing and they are breathing each other’s air.

“I’m glad you’re ok, you know,” Luciano says, so very quietly.

“I can take care of myself,” Martín answers just as softly, but lets Luciano cradle his face between his hands and gently pull him down for a kiss.

Luciano knows, and almost argues that that doesn’t mean he doesn’t get to care about him anyways. Because he had been really worried, and only now that Martín is in his arms and kissing him - so slow and sweet - he can feel the tension of days finally leaving his body.

Martín lifts his arms and curls them around Luciano’s shoulders, pulling him close. He pulls away from the kiss, and Luciano cocks his head to the side to give Martín some space when he buries his face on his neck. A small content smile curves Luciano’s lips as he curls his arms tightly around Martín’s back. They couldn’t be any closer even if they wanted.

They stay quiet, embracing each other for a moment since what seems like forever, before Luciano breaks the silence.

“Hey,” he calls gently, and cocks his head trying to get a glimpse of Martín’s face. “You hungry?”

“ _ Famished _ ,” Martín answers against his skin, and Luciano can’t help a light chuckle.

They pull away, a little reluctantly. As Luciano makes his way to his phone, Martín heads to the bathroom.

“Mind if I borrow your shower?" he asks.

Like he needed an answer, or like he was expecting one. Before Luciano can eve shrug, Martín is already dropping his clothes on the floor. He doesn’t bother closing the bathroom’s door behind, which is fine; it’s not like there’s much point when modesty was never a thing between them. Honestly, there’s nothing Luciano hasn’t seen - or _ touched _ \- at this point.

Luciano calls the first delivery number he finds stuck on his fridge. He doesn’t feel picky, and can tell neither does Martín. He drops on his bed and crosses his arms behind his head. Luciano takes a deep breath, closes his eyes and melts into the mattress. For a moment, he’s just content to hear the familiar comforting sound of the shower running, thinking of nothing in what seems possible now for a long time.

He opens his eyes when he feels another weight settling on the mattress, with the feeling he might have doze off. Martín sits on the edge of the bed at his side, one hand curled on Luciano’s waist. Stark naked.

Modesty was never  _ ever _ a thing between them.

Luciano curls an arm around Martín’s hips, and pulls him closer. He gives him a smile that he drops almost immediately when his eyes meet Martín’s wrist.  With careful hands, Luciano takes Martín’s hand, and pull it to his face for closer inspection. He examines the wound of his wrists and carefully runs his thumb over it. It looks worse than he’d thought, the cuts deeper than it had first seemed; Martín must have pushed and pulled really hard at them to hurt himself like this. He’d like to scold him over it, but can’t muster the nerves to do so - not when he was the one who put the cuffs on Martín to begin with.

"How did you get them off?" he asks quietly, fingertip barely skimming over torn skin.

"Lube," Martín replies nonchalantly. "Good thing I let you fuck my ass before you went and stabbed me in the back, uh?”

Luciano stares at him, a little bewildered. He keeps lube by the night table next to his bed, as Martín well knows, but the idea of using it to escape seems unthought of.

"That's... resourceful," he guesses weakly.

"I'm flexible," Martín shrugs it off.

Luciano  _ knows _ . Better than anyone, hopefully.

“I  _ am _ still mad at you about it, you know,” Martín says, as a casual reminder.

“Of course you are,” Luciano frowns to himself. Martín will hold this against him for the rest of their lives, Luciano knows so.

Unwilling to give it too much of a thought - because he does not regret it, but he does feel  _ terribly _ guilty about it - Luciano pulls him down on the bed, and Martín drops on the mattress at his side without complaint. Luciano curls his arms around him and tangles their legs, wishing for a moment he too was naked just to feel Martín’s skin pressed against his own, but unwilling to let go to do anything about his uniform. He hides his face on Martín’s neck, and takes a deep breath. Martín chuckles, and sinks his fingers back in his hair, giving a light fond pull before starting to comb the knots away again. Luciano can barely contain a pleased sigh.

“Missed me, huh?” Martín asks, with a smile, Luciano is sure.

Luciano lifts his head - and yes, there it is, his little smug smirk.

“You know I did,” he replies, and can’t help frowning. “I was worried, you know...”

“Worried about me?” Martín repeats with fake teasing surprise.

Luciano can feel his cheeks warming up. He rolls his eyes at Martín, but curls his arms tighter around him, which only makes his smirk wider.

“Well, yes,” he says, and his frowns deepens. “You disappear and I don’t get a word from you for over a week, and then some guys break into my house asking for you, of course I was-”

“Wait,” Martín cuts him, and drops his smile immediately. “ _ Some guys what? _ ”

"Some of your men paid me a visit a couple of days ago,” Luciano repeats, unfazed.

Martín stares at him like Luciano has grown a second head.

"What did they say?” he asks. Then, his eyes grow wider. “What did  _ you _ say?"

"I didn’t give them any information," Luciano readjusts himself on the bed and purses his lips at the accusation. "Not like I had any anyways, mind you. Told them I had no idea where you could be. Then they left."

He avoids mentioning the threat. He believes Martín is under enough pressure as it is.

Martín stares at Luciano for what feels like a solid minute, pale and wide -eyed. Then, he wriggles free from Luciano’s arms to jump to his feet and rush for his clothes.

"We need to leave," he says. "Now. We need to leave  _ now _ , Luciano."

Luciano sits up, and frowns. He watches from the bed as Martín fights to get into his pants in a rush.

"Why? They said they believed me, there's no-"

"If they suspected I might come back to you they must have kept someone monitoring your apartment," Martín jumps in place as he tried to fit inside his shoes. "They must be on their way as we speak. We have to leave, now."

"Then leave," Luciano says. "I'll hold them and tell them you-"

"No," Martín cuts him. "You're coming with me. Coming here was a mistake, you are not safe, you're in danger..."

“What?" Luciano frowns, and then laughs. "No, I'm not, I'm a cop, I-"

"They'll hurt you. They'll hurt you, Luciano, until you give them what they want, even if you say you don't know. Even if you really don't know,” Martín’s eyes shine fierce as he speaks. “They'll hear no reason. They know I was here, and they'll kill you if you get in their way. We have to leave, we don't have much time before-"

A knock at the door cuts him. Martín and Luciano exchange looks. For a moment Luciano’s mind supplies it may be the food he ordered, but he immediately pushed the thought away; they’d have called at the doorbell on the building’s front door, there’s no way they could have got through to his apartment door.

Neither of them talk or move. They stare at the door, waiting. And then, there's a loud violent bang, and the door shakes and creaks in protest.

"Shit!" Luciano mutters as Martín hisses a string of curses.


	3. Chapter 3

There’s not much of a choice, really. Not with three men banging at the door, screaming curses and threats as they try to break in. There’s only another way out, one that Luciano doesn’t particularly fancy.

Luciano slides the window open and both Martín and him stick his head out. Cool night breeze tangles with their hair and clothes as they look down. Luciano can’t help to wince; it’s a four metre fall -  _ at least.  _ It’s not that bad, but it’s not something he’d be willing to do if he had a say in it.

But he does not have a say in this. Not when the door lets out an especially loud, angry crack. Luciano and Martín turn around in time to see a furious red face peeking through the newly made slit in the wood. It’s a quick flash, before the face is gone and the barrel of a gun slides in pointing at them.

“Fuck,  _ go! _ ” Martín all but pushes Luciano to take the leap.

Luciano can only let out a curse as a gunshot flies over his head and glass rains around him. He is falling, and barely has time to prepare himself for the impact. He meets the floor with much less grace than he intends; tries to roll away with it, and while for the most part he is intact, pain explodes on his shoulder as the fall takes its toll. Luciano hisses and clutches his shoulder.

Martín follows close, falls right by Luciano’s side as if rehearsed, and looks around; it’s a bit late, and there’s not many people on the street. The few passersby scream and rush away, scared away by the gunshots.

Two men stumble out of Luciano’s apartment building, both of them an impressive bulk of muscle. Not like it matters, Luciano thinks, as he notices the guns in their hands.

“Hey, you!” they call. “Stop right there!”

“Let’s go!” Martín urges him as he drags Luciano up to his feet.

They don’t make it beyond a couple of hurried steps before more gunshots ring around them.

“Fuck!” Luciano hisses as he shoves Martín behind a parked car for cover.

They both kneel on the concrete and press their backs against the car’s truck.

“Ok,” Martín breathes out at his side, and slowly peeks from their hiding spot. “Maybe he can sneak around- _ Goddamnit! _ ” he ducks back down as a shot grazes the car’s paint over his head.

“There’s nowhere to run!” one of the men call.

The man is right. They’re  _ trapped _ , Luciano thinks. There’s no way around, not without exposing themselves to their guns. Any attempt leaving cover will end in one of them getting shot.

“We have to face them,” Luciano mumbles.

Martín turns to him with wide eyes.

“Are you insane? They have  _ guns _ ,” he says.

“That’s exactly why we can’t outrun them,” Luciano replies.

They have no choice. Luciano carefully places himself by the edge of the car, and waits.

“It’ll be easier on you if you just turn yourself in!” the man orders, barely a couple of meters away from them now.

When he reaches their hiding spot, Luciano jumps at him and tackles him down. His companion raises his gun towards him, but Martín is quick to snatch his wrist and pull his hand away. Luciano barely gives them a glance over his shoulder before turning his attention to the man below him. The moment of distraction is enough for the man to land a punch; he hits him hard on his side, right on his ribs. Luciano groans in pain and retaliates with a punch straight to the jaw. He has the upper hand in this position, and takes advantage of it. He punches him again, just to weaken the man, and manages to immobilizes him with quick practiced moves while he pulls his handcuffs out of his belt.

“The fuck you think you are doing?!” the man under him growls as Luciano closes one side of the cuff to the man’s wrist on the other to a parking meter. “Let me go!”

The man tries to reach him with his free hand, claws in the air in vain as Luciano dances out of his reach.

“And stay there,” he grunts, rubbing his sore side.

The man curses at him and pulls at the cuff, but Luciano can’t bring himself to care when there is still another man up and fighting. He turns around and sees the man Martín is facing has a cut on his cheek; most importantly, he notices his gun is gone and that his hand is bleeding heavily with a deep cut. Martín has a knife on his hand, and circles him like a predator ready to pounce. The man might be taller and stronger than the both of them, but he is unarmed, outnumbered. And yet, he is not willing to stand down.

Luciano decides to pull the balance further on their favour, and pulls out his gun.

“On your knees,” he orders as he aims at the man.

The man’s eyes go to the gun and his fighting pose falters. Martín relaxes tense muscles and lets out a relieved huff at the sight of Luciano. He smiles, for a moment; his eyes go wide with alarm.

“Luciano, watch it!” he calls.

Three men tried to break into his apartment; all things considered, Luciano should have seen it coming. But he does not, and the third man takes him by surprise. His gun gets knocked right out off his hand, and before Luciano can understand what happened he’s bending over in pain; the first punch - to his guts - knocks the air out of his lungs, the second - to his jaw - sends him stumbling to the floor. Luciano’s head spins as he coughs for air, blood pouring out of the side of his mouth. When he manages to catch himself and look up, he finds the end of a gun pointed right to his face. 

“Shoot that bitch’s face off, Alberto!” the cuffed man screams in anger.

The man in question gives Luciano a nasty smile before he pulls the trigger. Luciano has enough presence of mind to dodge and snatch his attacker’s wrist. He pulls his hand away, and the shot rings over his head. They struggle, and with a grunt, Luciano manages to kick the man right on his stomach.

“Son of a bitch!” the man wheezes as he stumbles back as the gun drops from his hand.

Luciano takes his chance to jump at him and pin him down. He straddles the man’s chest, and hits him straight in the face, again, again and again, until he can’t tell whose blood paints the scraped skin of his knuckles anymore. Anger boils inside his chest, pain shoots up his arms, and adrenaline burns in his veins. He stops when the man stops squirming below him; he’s not unconscious, just too hurt to be a threat anymore. Luciano pulls away, drops on his ass on the concrete by the man’s side. With heavy breathing and a drumming heart, he watches him curl around himself between quiet groans and whimpers. It takes a moment for his ears to stop ringing - only then he hears the deafening sound of a car alarm ringing and the soft choking and kicking.

_ Martín. _

Luciano turns around, and tries to scramble to his feet. He fails, falls to his knees under his shaky legs. All the burning rage and stinging pain from before freezes in utter biting fear. Martín lays on his back, slammed into the car’s hood with their last attacker looming over him with his hands tightly curled around his neck. Ugly deep scratches tear through the man’s forearms, the print of Martín’s desperately digging his nails on his flesh, and blood pours heavily from a crooked crushed nose and a split lip past his bare teeth and chin. Martín’s breathing comes hard -  _ if at all _ -, his eyes wide and wild, his mouth open as he gasps and tries to push some air to his lungs.

Something inside Luciano cracks the moment Martín’s body stops answering and goes limp under the man.

The rest is almost surreal. It’s almost like the world freezes around Luciano. He looks down, and blinks slowly as his gun materializes out of nowhere, innocently laying like it never left his side on the sidewalk just within his reach. All he has to do is take it, raise his hand and pull the trigger.

The world comes back to its usual speed with the blast of a gunshot, and blood and flesh spill on the street as the man falls over Martín.

“ _ Fuck, _ ” the cuffed man stares at Luciano with utter panic on his eyes. Tries to scramble away in vain. “Fuck, you shot Fábio-you  _ son of a bitch _ , you shot Fábio!”

Luciano ignores him. He rushes to Martín’s side and pulls the man off him.

“ _ Martín, _ ” he calls, breathlessly.

Martín barely acknowledges him as he finally pushes some air into his lungs. He shakes so violently, weezing and choking so hard Luciano fears he might crack a rib.

“It’s ok,” he coos weakly as he gently cradles Martín’s neck and pulls his bangs out of his face.

There are already furious ugly marks of red and purple curling around pale abused skin. He helps him up and searches for deeper injuries. He can feel a big bump already swelling on the back of his head, but it’s not that bad. 

Martín’s hand clings to Luciano’s shirt and pulls, like his life depends on it. His eyes stare right past Luciano, red-framed green iris lost. A thin layer of sweat covers his face, and fresh red blood splatters across his sickly pale face.

It takes Martín a moment to get to train his pupils on Luciano. He opens his mouth and tries to talk, only to choke on his own voice. Luciano shushes him gently.

“You’re safe,” he says, and if he had any strength left, he’d try to smile for him. “You’re ok, Martín.”

He avoids looking at the man laying on the street, spread on a pool of his own blood with a bullet hole piercing from one side of his head to the other. He can’t deal with that -  _ with what he’s done  _ \- right now.

“We need to leave,” Martín croaks out painfully.

Only then Luciano can hear the police sirens ringing over the car’s alarm.

He helps Martín up, and has to place a steady hand on his lower back when he wobbles slightly on his feet. Martín clings to his arm, and takes a deep breath.

“I’m ok,” he mumbles, his voice broken and wrong. “Come on, let’s go.”

They get back moving, as fast as their hurt tired bodies let them. They leave two men down, one quiet and the other whimpering, and a third one cursing and threats at them as he helplessly watches them go.

They have no true destination, except for away, as soon as possible.

As the adrenaline rush slowly drains away from his veins, Luciano can feel his body more and more heavy. Soon, he’s heavy trouble breathing, every step harder and harder than the last. He feels his legs weak to carry him any further and his vision swims, enough to make him close his eyes and grit his teeth. He blindly reaches for a wall, and lets his body sag against it when he finds one.

“Luciano?” Martín calls weakly.

“I can’t…” he mumbles, and can’t even finish his sentence.

The only thing keeping him on his feet is the solid wall he’s leaning against, and he’s not sure he’ll be able to keep himself on his feet any longer. He’s shaking, badly, every nerve of his body out of control.

“I killed that man,” he says strangled.

His insides twist with disgust. His heart hammers painfully hard inside his ribcage, and yet he feels a hole on his chest, wide and burning and  _ growing _ , choking him from inside. Cold sweat gathers on his pale face as he can’t push enough air into his lungs.

“I _ killed  _ that man,” he repeats between heavy pants.

The image burns on his mind; a limp body, blood and flesh spread fresh on the concrete. Luciano studied and trained for years, took an oath to protect lives, joined a force team he had believed in and had been proud to be part of.

All he has ever wanted to do was help, and he had blown a man’s brains off.

Martín crouches in front of him, and cradles his face. A little more roughly than intended, he forces Luciano’s eyes to meet his. He’s shaking too, if slightly - nothing compare to Luciano’s trembling figure.

“Luciano, please,” he begs hoarsely, his pale face still spatter in blood that is not his and twisted with urgency. “Don’t… Not here. We don’t have time...”

Luciano can’t find his voice between the panting. Martín presses his lips against his, roughly, and tries to coerce an answer from Luciano. When he doesn’t - for Luciano can barely  _ think _ , let alone move - he pulls him into his arms. Luciano lets Martín curl around him, sags against him and falls to his knees when Martín’s legs give away and they tumble to the ground. Martín pulls him even closer then, buries his face against Luciano’s hair. After a moment, Luciano lifts shaky hands and clings to him, fists tightly closing around the fabric of his shirt. He sinks his face on his chest and can’t hold back a choked sob.

Luciano has no idea how long they spend sitting on the sidewalk in the darkness, clinging like two drunk men. Only when his breathing slows down and he melts exhausted into the arms around him, Martín speaks again.

“We need to move,” he says almost apologetically.

Luciano can’t bring himself to nod. He lets Martín help him up, lets him take his hand and lead him away. He follows, quietly; doesn’t say a word when Martín lets go, doesn’t complain while he forces a car parked on a dark street open. He just sits by the copilot seat, and lets Martín drive him wherever he wants. He sags against the seat, and watches with heavy lidded eyes as the night scenery passes by around them.

Martín doesn’t take them too far. He drives the car under a bridge, and parks there. It's a place known for lovers searching for a not-so-hidden parking spot to devote to each other. It's a smart place to spend the night. As Luciano knows, the police usually avoid patrolling this spot, either because officers got tired of running into half naked couples rutting or because they sympathized with the adventure of semi-public sex. No one will question a car spending the night here.

Martín turns the engine off, and climbs out of the driver’s seat. As he slides to the back seats, he takes Luciano’s hand and gently pulls. Luciano follows; he lays on top of Martín once  Martín arranges himself. Luciano feels like a child as he tamely lets Martín pull his utility belt off and leave it on the floor of the car, close by just in case. He rests his head on his chest, and Martín's arms curl around him to keep him steadily close to him. 

They make themselves as comfortable as possible, which really isn't much. The seats were not designed to play bed; their legs are all over the place, bent and cramped against the car’s door. It’s less than ideal, but Luciano can’t bring himself to care. He is tired and sore, of body and mind, and gunshots still ring on his ears. One special shot, followed by a silent fall and spattered blood. He closes his eyes, and takes a sharp breath.

_ We need to move, _ a quiet weak voice hisses in his mind.

He grit his teeth together. He breathes once, twice, three times. He can’t falter now - he’ll have plenty of time to deal with  _ this _ later, but right now he needs to focus. If he wants to get out of this alive. If he wants Martín to get out of this alive.

He lets a quiet sigh out, and tries to gather all the strength he has left. It’s not much.

“So,” his voice is quiet in the silence. “What do we do now?”

“We spend the night here, nice and quiet,” Martín answers, patiently combing Luciano’s hair.

“I mean how are we fixing this,” Luciano says. “We can’t keep running forever.”

When no reply comes, Luciano frowns. He raises his head and glares at Martín.

“That’s your plan?” he says. “I thought you were smarter than that…”

“Well, excuse me,” Martín snaps at him - with little effect, his voice is still too hoarse and cracked - but does not bite back.

Luciano sighs; it’s uncommon for either of them to back away from a fight, but for once he is glad.

"Well,” he says. “You could always turn yourself to the Police.”

Martín gives him a puzzled horrified look.

“Excuse me?”

"You'll be under our custody, you’ll be safe with-" 

Martín interrupts him with a loud offensive laugh. It’s an ugly sound that sends him into a violent coughing fit. Luciano frowns and purses his lips.

"We can protect you," he insists, sharp. 

"No, you can't," Martín manages to answer, chuckling and choking at the same time.

"Yes, we can," Luciano says. "You can’t keep hiding by yourself. We can help you, Martín, that’s what we’re here for…” 

"You think you can help?" Martín repeats, arching his eyebrows in disbelief. "Let me break it to you, Luciano, the Chief of Police works for my people."

Luciano stares at Martín with wide eyes.

" _ What? _ "

"You heard me," Martín says. "He works for us. We pay him to keep you off our asses, the same way we paid your former boss. Except he fucked up and ended up costing my boss quite some money with your last little raid. Why do you think he quit, you think he had any choice? I’m surprised they spared his life, damn..."

Luciano stares shocked.

"This is worse than I thought..." he breathes out weakly once he finds his voice again. He grits his teeth, and anger burst with the last of his strength; “Did you know all of that?” 

Martín hesitates for a moment. He almost looks guilty.

“I knew something else was going on,” he admits quietly. “That deals were being made under the table, but it was not my place to question... I didn’t know it was this big. If I had known drugs were involved I would-” he cuts himself, and he suddenly looks lost. He lets out a deep breath, and talks even quieter next; “It doesn’t matter, does it? I'm way too deep into this shit, I wouldn’t have been able to walk away from it alive…”

“You would,” Luciano contradicts firmly. “We would have helped you. I would have helped you.”

A small smile curves the edge of Martín’s lips, barely; in the dark, Luciano would have missed it if he wasn’t this close. It’s an amused, hopeless smile, much to Luciano’s distaste.

“No use in worrying about ‘ifs’,” Martín says. “We should probably try get some sleep. We had a pretty rough night...”

In this Luciano agrees, wholeheartedly. He’s exhausted, aching for rest, so he lays his head once again on Martín chest. Idle fingers go back to combing his hair almost instantly.

“You would,” he does say one last time, because he wants it to sink in Martín, and cuddles closer.

Neither of them speak again after that, and Luciano once again is left alone with dark grim thoughts. The Police Chief, involved in stolen cars’ market and in drug trafficking. Not only that, but now Luciano is forced to be hiding in a car under a bridge with a bunch of criminals on his tail and with no hope of help from the force he believed in his whole life.

Things are even worse than he thought, and that’s saying a  _ lot _ .

The silence and darkness, the closeness and warmth of Martín's familiar body against Luciano’s start taking its toll; Luciano is soon falling into unconsciousness, too tired to keep his eyes open any longer.

"I'm sorry, Martín," he whispers on the edge of sleep.

He means it wholeheartedly. Martín's arms curl tighter around him, and he rests his forehead against Luciano's hair.

"I told you you'd be," he answers quietly, kindly.

**Author's Note:**

> ~ Thanks lovely Zulenha for beta-reading ~


End file.
